[2018] Reign of Queens

by Melissa Wright

When I finally broke the silence, we were navigating a narrow pass. “How long will we be riding?”

  I wasn’t specific in my question, not wanting to reveal I had no idea where we were headed. If he’d been under the false impression he’d had to take me, I wasn’t about to mess that up only to be dragged back to the village. Especially after everything that had happened.

  My horse quickened his pace to ride alongside his and I made a mental note to learn how to control the horse on my own. The constricted path forced us close together, our stirrups and legs brushing as we rode. Chevelle nodded at my hand and I held it out, palm up.

  Chevelle indicated a spot on one of the mountains. “We are here.”

  I tried not to let my disappointment show. The information would’ve only helped if I’d known where I started on the map or its endpoint. But at least I knew we were closer.

  When we came through the pass our path widened, but the horses didn’t separate as I had expected them to. I decided I’d had enough of that. “How do I control Steed?”

  I could see the humor in his eyes at my phrasing, but he kept a straight face. “Think of where you want him to go and lead his head so.”

  I concentrated on turning left and we were instantly spinning, the unexpected twirl throwing me half from my saddle.

  Chevelle caught my arm and righted me on my now-still horse. “Maybe not so severe next time.”

  My face heated, but I focused on the horse’s head again, turning him back to our course as I gave a small nudge with my heels.

  I was cautious after that but it became easier to control his movement as we rode. I practiced guiding him, eventually even maneuvering him back and forth between the misshapen rocks and spiky brush on our way. I was still afraid to have him kneel when we stopped for the evening, though, imagining him rolling on top of me if I tried. I slid down and stretched my legs, glad for a rest after the hours of tensing every time the horse changed direction. The air was brisk. I ran my hands over my arms to warm them.

  I started as black swirled around me. Chevelle had thrown a cloak over my shoulders. He moved in front of me to hook the clasp, his dark eyes piercing as he stood so close. My heart stuttered when he leaned in, our faces unbearably near. Just before he touched me, his cheek slid alongside mine, his mouth at my ear. I froze as he spoke low, his breath on my neck sending a shiver through me.

  “Stay. Still.”

  He was gone. He moved so fast it took a moment to understand. The hood of the cloak was drawn over my head, Chevelle standing a good distance away, facing the trees. I was watching him as two men drew near. I hadn’t seen them; they must have been concealed, or camouflaged by magic as I had been days before. The tassels decorating their long robes identified them as members of council, but I wasn’t familiar with the two. They mustn’t have been from the village.

  As they approached Chevelle cautiously, I examined their insignia. Even if they weren’t from the village, I still needed council members to unbind me, and I had a sudden urge to go to them. But I remembered my warning to be still.

  “She’s not going back.” Chevelle’s tone, level and uncompromising, caught my attention.

  I pushed the hood back to better hear and the taller figure glared at me as he hissed, “You’re protecting her when you know what she’s capable of?”

  I flinched at his words, but something else had caught my eye. The robes were ornate, the tassels interwoven with color. He was Grand Council.

  I studied the other newcomer, who acted as if I wasn’t present. He was incredulous, staring at Chevelle when he spoke. “Her mother slaughtered your clan, your family. Why release this terror—”

  The man’s words were cut short, his face contorted in pain. Chevelle had gone rigid, every muscle tense. The councilman struggled, suffering from some unseen force. Blood poured from his nose and I gasped. Chevelle’s head jerked toward me and I couldn’t catch my breath—his eyes were as black as onyx. When his focus returned to the men, they eased away, the first supporting other by an arm as both bowed slightly, stepping and stumbling in their retreat. Chevelle watched them until they spun to disappear, and then he turned to me.

  One look at his face and I knew the cause of the devastation. I still couldn’t remember, but I knew what I had heard was truth.

  My mother had killed his family, his entire clan. He’d been there in the village in my dreams, in my memories. He had saved me. His family was there as well. The people running and screaming and dying were his clan. I knew the cloaks in that vision now, too. They were Grand Council. The council was circling my mother to stop her. She was killing the northern clans. I didn’t know why. And I didn’t know how I knew, but I was certain I didn’t want my memories back. What I had was already too much.

  I couldn’t fathom the pain Chevelle had suffered, surely a hundred times mine at the loss of my mother. His mother… his father… each member of his family? How much loss had he endured? Tears streamed down my face.

  Chevelle took a step toward me and I was struck by fear. He must despise me. That was why he’d become my watcher.

  He gave a curt nod at my reaction, his head still dipped as he walked away. I wanted to speak but the words choked me. I wrapped myself tighter into the cloak as Chevelle constructed a hasty shelter.

  I was his responsibility, but surely he loathed me. How could he not? I thought back to the scenarios I had envisioned after the memories of my mother being killed came back to me… what I would do to those men if I were to ever find them.

  Now I remembered the truth. They were saving the North.

  I couldn’t say I didn’t still want revenge though. What he must feel toward me for taking so much from him. My mind was reclassifying every look he’d ever given me, everything that had happened since I’d met him. Why he hadn’t looked at me as I’d lain under the tree in the meadow, explaining why Fannie had struck me. Why I’d wanted to learn transfer magic… to get my mother’s things. The look he’d given the pendant on my neck… my mother’s pendant. Of course he’d volunteered to be my watcher. I had taken everything from him.

  My thoughts began to muddle as my mother and my dreams and my own life twisted together. I still couldn’t retrieve my memories; I only had the last years, which seemed a haze now. The only parts clear to me were the days since Chevelle walked through Junnie’s door.

  I thought of how I had cursed him when I’d found he was my watcher. The hate in my voice when I’d demanded my memories back. The memories of his family’s murder.

  My mind writhed with anguish through the night. As I emerged from the shelter late the next morning, I was resigned. I would continue my journey with him and let him return me to the council without resistance. It was all I could do.

  I found him sitting near the shelter’s entrance, distress apparent in his features.

  “Thank you,” I said, indicating the shelter.

  He nodded, but his face didn’t quite return to the serene mask he usually wore.

  My stomach knotted; I hadn’t eaten since our ride the day before.

  “I’ll get you some food,” he said. A fire lit beside us as if of its own accord. He strode off in search of food, and I sat close, tucking my cheeks into the material of the cloak for warmth. A moment later, he was back, our breakfast roasting over the flames. We ate in silence and mounted the horses as we had each day before, but it was obvious nothing was the same. How could it ever be?

  I was racked with guilt as we made our way up the mountain. I purposefully rode behind him, glad at least to be able to control the horse on my own.

  Small patches of snow had started to dot the landscape, the vegetation a darker, sharper green. Occasionally the sun would break through the mist, making me squint, and I would appreciate the calmer, hazier atmosphere. Gloom, as they called it at home, in the usually sunny village where I would spend my eternity. I wondered where I would be kept as a captive, if there would be windows, if I was unfit for public view.

  Cheve
lle picked up speed after we passed through the more difficult part of the trail and then we rode fast the rest of the day. I struggled to keep up. I was sure I knew the cause of his hurry. He’d decided he wanted to get this journey over with, end it and return me to the council for punishment, to be done with me.

  We rode long into the evening, well past sunset, and I began to wonder if he would stop at all. I was contemplating possible ways to sleep on a horse when he finally stopped. We were riding through a small pass, the moonlight barely lighting our way, and Chevelle’s horse disappeared. My head swiveled, searching for any sign of them, and then my own horse turned beneath an overhang and stopped in a cavern so dark I hadn’t seen it until we were there.

  Chevelle tossed out a small flame, giving us enough light to dismount. The horses walked to one end of the cavern, their hoofbeats echoing softly, as we remained in the other.

  “Frey.” Chevelle turned to me as he spoke. “Yesterday… the council trackers…”

  Trackers? I tried to focus on what he was saying and not let my mind run wild with the new information.

  “They will send someone for what I have done.”

  I thought of the councilman’s face, distorted in pain.

  “We should continue your training.”

  “Training?” Even I could hear the dread in my question.

  “Practice. You should be able to protect yourself.”

  I remembered his words from before the revelation that ended my magic lessons. Fighters. A chill ran down my spine as I nodded my assent. I’d skinned out of a few run-ins with council and it was no secret how they operated. I might be safe enough with Chevelle, but if the others retrieved me…

  “We will work again at first light and possibly as we ride.”

  Part of me wanted to argue, As we ride? But I knew how serious it was. I was a fugitive. And now it appeared even Grand Council was looking for me. I had no idea what my punishment would be. This wasn’t the village. This would be far worse than anything High Council would have planned.

  “What will they do if I can’t protect myself?”

  His face was grim. He didn’t reply and I suddenly didn’t want him to.

  We settled onto the floor of the small den, our backs against the wall, the rock overhang blocking the light of the moon.

  “That is my flame,” Chevelle said, “try to extinguish it.”

  And my training began.

  Ruby

  Early the next morning, even before first light, Chevelle woke me for training. Gone were the games we had played. These lessons were intense and stressful. I’d been unable to generate magic on demand so he’d started lunging at me with weapons, sticks, fire, forcing me to respond to protect myself. After each attack, he would come right back at me and if I tried to repeat a tactic for defense, he would overpower my magic and push me to find a new maneuver.

  I was beat, winded, drained. “Mount up,” he announced. When I started to climb on my horse, the horse shot off like an arrow, almost knocking me to the ground. I glared at Chevelle’s back, but he was already galloping away.

  I reached out with magic, drawing Steed’s head around to press him back to me, climbed up, and clicked my heels hard to catch Chevelle. He was riding too fast again and I was not looking forward to the day, sure it would be worse than the already miserable morning. I rode up beside him, planning a snide remark about the trick, but was distracted by a black stone in his hand. It was odd-shaped and just smaller than my balled fist. Onyx, I thought, though I’d never seen the stone that big.

  His gaze was intent. “Be prepared at all times. This will come at you from every direction. It is the only way you can learn to respond quickly. You need to get past that block, to use your defense as instinct.”

  I really didn’t want to play anymore. But before I could protest, a black rock hurtled toward me. My hand jerked up automatically to swat it away but my arm hit an invisible wall. The rock slammed into my face. I was fairly certain my nose was bleeding from the impact. I tried to slow my horse but no longer had control of him.

  “Again,” Chevelle warned.

  The rock was coming for me a second time. I tried to duck out of the way but the wall was there once more, blocking me from moving. I cursed as the stone glanced off my cheek.

  “This isn’t fair,” I complained. It seemed he was holding me in place just to strike me.

  “It’s the only way, Freya. This is for your protection.”

  “I highly doubt they will pummel my face with rocks,” I spat out.

  “No,” he said, “they will bind you and burn you alive.”

  I felt sick. A vision of the Grand Council cloaks circling me was convincing enough, but he continued.

  “You will not know their thoughts; you must be ready for any attack.”

  I nodded, even though part of me was certain there was a less painful way.

  The rock came at me again. I couldn’t respond quick enough, couldn’t counter and hold on to a galloping horse in the instant it took him to decide. It wasn’t dangerous, but it was like being slapped, and the irritation had me itching to burn something. The volley continued and whenever my anger showed, the rock came harder, faster, so I tried to control the emotion or at least hide it. That was the hardest part. Eventually, I found the best defense was to block the attacks by deflecting them with other objects. His magic was too powerful to counter directly and he’d prevented me from ducking away.

  When I was blocking about half the strikes successfully, he pocketed the stone and progressed with sticks, water, fire, anything he found on the trail. We were still riding too fast and I was exhausted from the mental and physical exertion when he switched to full-body attacks. By nightfall I wasn’t able to fend off anything that came at me and he mercifully stopped the horses beneath another hollow in the mountain. I was asleep practically before I slid off my horse.

  The next morning I woke to the sound of rock against rock. There was no sign of Chevelle or his horse in the dim stone hollow. I sat up, rubbing my sore legs, unable to believe he’d left me. And then the rock wall struck me in the face.

  I cursed, my voice hoarse from sleep. The wall came at me again. “Okay, okay,” I shouted. “Let me up.”

  Chevelle’s camouflage dissipated and he stared down at me, disappointed.

  I smirked. “Where’s your horse?”

  He smiled as the beast nipped at the back of my head, yanking my hair. Grumbling, I swatted the horse away and ran my hand over my face, sure it was mottled with bruises and scratch marks.

  “Drink this.” Chevelle offered me a hide flagon and I took it, swallowing a mouthful before the taste hit me.

  “Gah, that tastes like cat pee smells.”

  Chevelle chuckled. “It will help with the healing.”

  Why bother? I wondered. It would be another day of bombardment with mountain fixtures… maybe whole trees this time. My face pinched with annoyance and Chevelle threw me a piece of dried meat, barely holding back a smile as he jumped on his horse.

  “You’d better get started,” he said, “it’s going to be a long walk.”

  As he kicked his heels, I spun toward the corner where my horse had been. He was galloping up the mountain now, just over a hundred yards away. I tried to think quickly, to keep the anger from slowing my response. Using magic to pull Chevelle’s horse by the tail, I ran after him, hoping to leap on. A tree branch came from nowhere and smacked me flat across the face. Chevelle’s horse whinnied as they rode away.

  “Why always the face?” I yelled at his back.

  I winced as a second branch, this one young and green and more like a lash, struck me from behind. A fierce growl escaped me and I took off, running at full speed in the direction my horse had gone.

  By midday, I was completely spent. I had eventually caught my horse, but the training hadn’t let up. I was too exhausted for any anger to remain, but I had the sneaking suspicion Chevelle was enjoying my “lessons.” We stopped by a patch
of snow that had gathered in a rock basin, warming it to water for the horses. Chevelle jumped down from his horse as I melted off the side of mine and onto a rock, my limbs like molasses.

  He came to sit across from me and I flinched, expecting another attack.

  He smiled. “Well, at least you’re anticipating assault.”

  I didn’t have the energy for casual banter, but I did manage to glare at him.

  He pointed northeast. “The village is a few hours’ ride from here.” He retrieved a fresh set of clothes from his pack and handed it across to me. “Go ahead and get cleaned up. I’ll be back in a few moments.”

  I tried to pull myself together as he strode away, but I felt so drained. I stood, easing my clothes off, soiled and tattered from the days of batterings. The damage on my bare skin was minimal. I had imagined much worse as I’d failed to block so many of the strikes. I satisfied my ego by giving the cat pee-smelling elixir more credit than was probably due, but some part of me knew the training had not been hard because it was physical. It had been the use of magic.

  I put the new shirt on, made of soft black leather and corseted tight around my waist. Slim, dark wool pants and tall boots went on next and I wondered at the village we’d be entering where black was appropriate. I could think of no one at home who had worn black; I envisioned the dainty blond elves dancing around in dark leather and giggled.

  I glanced up to find Chevelle, wearing an unfathomable expression. I hurried to finish lacing the boots, throwing the cloak around my shoulders as he left more rations and went to ready the horses. I stretched out on the ground to eat, examining the carved medallion clasped to my boot. Chevelle stepped away again, disappearing behind the rocks that had become more jagged and taller along our way. When he returned, the sight of him stole my breath. His worn traveling clothes were gone, exchanged for dark gray and black, a leather vest covering his shirt, the laces loose at his chest. A long, dark cloak was clasped at his shoulders, the material thick and coarse, so unlike the soft robes the rest of council wore. I knew I was gaping at him, but there was something so strange about it. He caught my eye and I let my gaze fall to his sword belt, struggling to gather my composure.